


we're broken people (maybe that's okay)

by Slytherheda



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 12:41:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6284917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slytherheda/pseuds/Slytherheda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe you don't meet death by his hand, but everyone dies eventually. You'll see her again, someday, in some life.</p><p>or</p><p>Clexa reincarnation/soulmates au</p>
            </blockquote>





	we're broken people (maybe that's okay)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work, although short, so glad I'm finally posting it! Hope you enjoy! :)

In your first life, you are the commander, unrivaled and proud. Not much belongs to you, because you yourself belong to your people, but she is yours, if nothing else. You are young, you have conquered the conclave, and you have a family, between her and Anya. You feel unstopable, the world is at your feet.

Your first love is ripped away from you not long after, having met a bloody death in a pointless war. You blame yourself, as though you yourself struck her down, despite the fact that it was an act of war. You find yourself, then, because despite the protests of your heart, you know he is right when he says, love is weakness, love is weakness. 

You only begin to waver when she falls from the heavens themselves, an angry god who burns your people in her fire. Maybe it was fate, that she survived even when the odds were so little. Maybe it was her own force of will. 

When she arrives speaking of an alliance, you wonder how she has survived so long. You are still cold, hard, not yet ready to waver. Anya is dead, and your youth, your family, is dead with her. When you see her power firsthand, watch her being a man back to life, watch her stain her hands with the blood of her lover, this is when you begin to realize her true power. When you let your first love's name pass your lips for the first time in years, _Costia_ , this is truly when you begin to doubt those words, love is weakness, love is weakness. She reminds you of her oh so much.

You are almost surprised when you kiss her. Maybe life is more than just surviving.

You wouldn't know.

And when she tells you maybe someday, you almost believe it.

When you abandon her and her people to an impossible task, you are sure you made the right choice. You are sure you made the right choice? You do not belong to yourself but your people. Love is weakness, love is weakness. You will not let love hurt you again. Maybe it's fate again when she beats the odds and slays the mountain. Maybe she is simply a force of nature.

It is only months later that you begin to waver once again, love is weakness? Life is more about just surviving, but does that ring true to an instrument of the people? Maybe you will never know. You begin to have hope again when she is brought to you, feral and changed. Wanheda, a fitting nickname. She comes back, slowly but steadily, and you begin to forget his lessons, though he advises you against it. You love her anyway, and though you don't meet your end with a cold bullet by his hand, you die a heroic death in battle, wondering if you would see her again. Maybe fate is saying, not yet. Maybe that was her.

In your next life, you are a child. Happy and free, you are untouched by the clutch of reality. For now at least. You know not heartbreak, and wear your heart on your sleeve, free for the taking. A sharp contrast to your last life. You never learned the lesson, and when you befriend her, you never grow old enough to realize why she seems so familiar, why you're constantly on the verge of remembering something, something, when you're with her. Maybe you were taken against your will that day, or maybe you were just too trusting despite your gut. Either way, you met a fearful end at the hands of strange men, cold metal icing the heart that once beat so warm.

In another, you are a writer. Your heart belonging to yourself and yourself only, or maybe it belongs to your words. You flow with them, feel them, are them as you write, waltzing, moving, flying as one into each sentence. You never meet her in this life, but you are happy, for a time, in a different way. You wanted to share your words with the world, knowing you _could_ be heard. You move on, eventually, your dreams dead and your gift, too. Maybe you just weren't speaking loud enough.

In another life, you are a warrior once again. Fierce and proud, with a fire in your veins and an unrivaled faith in your cause, and the prowess to see it through. You are enemies in this life, and there is never an alliance between your people. You strike her down, but something stops you from ending her life completely. She might spend this life crippled or killed by another, but she did not meet her end by your hand. She would have forgiven you, anyway. Perhaps the promotion was your own doing, maybe it was fate. You never see battle again, confined to leading a cause you now know the truth of. When you finally meet the ground from the cliff's edge, you embrace death with a smile.

In yet another, you are a revolutionary, fighting for your freedom, and freedom for those like you. Maybe you were ahead of your time. Maybe you didn't care. You embrace her one last time and tell her you will come home to her. You are confined for lengths of time, and when time comes to sacrifice yourself, you meet a painful death, flames licking your skin, smoke filling your lungs as your lover watches in quiet sorrow. Maybe you made no change in your lifetime, but the future generations remember you with pride.

In your previous lifetime, you are a worker. You grind day to night to eat and barely at that, and at the end of the day, you sleep like death. It is an unfulfilling life, constant routine and boring work, but you have a flame in your heart, a spark in your eye that can't quite be extinguished, and you believe things will get better, though you spend most of this life feeling incomplete and wondering what is missing. You meet her only once before you die in a protest, the beginning of a revolution, and it is not your face that is remembered, but hers, and you die a quiet, needless death. In the end, you remember where you recognize her from, and hope one day you may find peace.

In this life, you are a student, so far in debt and so close to failing that you have no hope left in life. Maybe in another you could do better, maybe in another life you would find something worth holding on to. 

Months go by, and you find her. Soft and sweet and somehow, familiar, the way her name rolls off your lips, _Clarke_. You fall for her, and wish for these days never to end.

Years go by, and you now believe in a future. Maybe you will never be perfect, but life is about more than that. As you curl up in front of the fireplace with her, you finally find a chance to breathe after so much chaos. Maybe it was always meant to be this way.

It is in these precious moments that you finally realize that he was wrong, that love was never weakness, but your greatest strength. It has been a long road, and you are weary, but as you look into her deep blue eyes, you know there's nowhere you'd rather be. Maybe life was always about more than just surviving.

You are at peace.

**Author's Note:**

> For Heda,  
> Yu gonplei ste odon.  
> Osir gonplei nou.  
> Ste yuj, oso na hit choda op nodotaim.


End file.
